


I will not give you up this time

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 04, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 19:01:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12754287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: Earth was always full of surprises, even if Bellamy had thought he'd figured most of them out by now. Coming home is no exception.





	I will not give you up this time

“Stay sharp,” Bellamy mutters, wishing he had a rifle in his hands.

Murphy snorts, a sound that makes everyone else flinch. 

“Less than ten hours on the ground and he’s already picked up his favorite catchphrase.”

Bellamy shoots him a look, more for the volume than the teasing.

“I guess that means we’re really back,” Harper agrees, giving the others a grin.

A chorus of whoops interrupts whatever clever retort sits poised on the tip of Raven’s tongue. They’d been making good time, moving through the sparse forest in the general direction they thought the bunker might lie, and getting pretty close over the course of the day. To their surprise, not long after nightfall, the raucous sounds of a _party_  had begun to reach their ears. Sounds Bellamy hasn’t heard since that first week on earth, when the delinquents at the dropship had done… well, whatever the hell they wanted.

_Octavia,_  he’d thought instantly, and then every long-buried instinct from six years ago rebelled against the thought. It would be too simple for him to get to reunite with his sister on his first day back on earth. He can’t trust it, not when easy is a concept life on the ground is unfamiliar with.

Of course they were going to check it out, but he wasn’t getting his hopes up. If it is O, he’ll be overwhelmingly glad. If it’s not, he’ll maybe have avoided being devastated. Or so he tells himself.

A drum pounds low and steady, rattling their bones as they draw closer to the source of the noise. _Music_. Who would have thought? He half expects it to be something he recognizes, rigged up by an ex-Arker, but it doesn’t seem to be a recording. One rhythm blends into another, different tones and timbres nearly, but not quite, drowning out the chatter of a crowd, delighted exclamations and unbridled laughter.

“Not exactly hiding, are they?” Echo whispers. Bellamy would admonish her for making noise, but they’re close enough now that the sound of drums gives them cover.

“Who else would be around to hear them?” Emori points out. “Until a few hours ago, they were literally the only people alive in this part of the earth.”

“So let’s go meet the neighbors,” says Bellamy, crossing the rest of the distance toward the noise and flickering firelight until he can see the clearing through a gap in the trees.

At first, he can’t tell what exactly he’s looking at. His eyes are scanning for Octavia, his heart in his throat, but he can’t see anyone who looks familiar. No O, no Miller. No Kane, or Jaha, or Indra, or–

Dr. Griffin.

His stomach sinks even as his heart soars.

It _is_  the survivors from the bunker, which means his sister is out there somewhere.

On the other hand, Abby doesn’t know Clarke’s fate. None of them do. Her face is so light, almost carefree as she hangs back from the festivities, chatting with someone Bellamy doesn’t know. If she feels half the pain he did in losing Clarke, half the anguish of her memory over the past six years, then she’s in for a hell he wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

His throat feels tight, old wounds ripped open once more. It had been foolish of him to make the promise he’d made the last time he and Abby saw each other, to assure her that he would take care of her daughter, but… that’s what he’d always done, isn’t it? He’d kept her alive, time and time again, only to fail at the last possible moment.

Telling her is going to be excruciating. She’ll blame him; he’ll deserve it. But there’s no chance she won’t already know the instant she sees his face.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him back to the present. For a beat, he thinks Raven is on the same page as he is, somehow pulling the same trick Clarke used to be able to of reading his mind. Offering him what comfort she can, when the monster he can’t escape from is within.

But when he turns to look at her face, the tears in her eyes aren’t sorrowful. Her expression is one of joy, her jaw slack and her eyes as wide as they had been every time she’d spacewalked in the six years they’d been gone.

“Bellamy,” she croaks, shaking him. “ _Look.”_

Frowning, he follows her line of sight to the other side of the clearing from where Abby stands. He’s not sure if he expects to see his sister, booze, or some food other than algae that’s making her look so awestruck, but the _last_ thing he expects is to see–

“ _Clarke_.”

It’s little more than a soft exhale, but it’s one that purges six years of self-loathing and regret from his system. He knows they’ll return, but as he looks at Clarke–her hair shorter, more muscle where there used to be softness, a glint in her eye as she speaks to the teenage girl she has her arm around–he can’t bring himself to mind.

She’s here. She’s alive. She’s okay.

It’s staggering, in all the best ways, and before he knows it he’s making his way toward the celebration.

Whether anyone recognizes him, he isn’t sure. If any of the others try to speak to him, he isn’t aware of it. He wants to laugh, wants to cry as she rolls her eyes with fondness, as the girl pulls away from her grip in favor of skipping toward the makeshift dance floor, as she sips at her drink and watches the crowd.

He reaches her right as she starts to turn toward him, nearly causing her to spill her drink all over the both of them.

“Watch it,” she mumbles in Trigedasleng. He chokes back a laugh.

“Sorry about that, Princess.”

Her head snaps up so quick he worries that she might hurt herself, and for the second time that night, as he drowns in the depth of her gaze, his eyes prickle with the threat of tears.

“Bellamy?”  
  
“Hi,” he says lamely, catching her hand as she reaches out to touch him, to test whether he’s real. He can relate. He isn’t yet convinced that she’s more than a very convincing mirage. “Sorry I’m late.”

Desperation colors the laugh this startles from her, and she uses her grip on his hand to tug him into her arms. He clutches at her, one of his hands resting over her heart, feeling it beat through her back, as his other twists into her hair. As easily as if they’d never been apart, her lips find that spot against his neck that he’s always considered _hers._  

“You absolute ass,” she chokes out, her hands scrabbling to press him closer. “Five years means five years.”

“You know me, I like to make a dramatic entrance,” he laughs, shaky. Clarke draws back to look up at him and it’s excruciating to let her pull away that far. It helps that he can look at her. “Fashionably late is still a thing, right? We kind of missed out on all the earth trends up there.”

“I’ve never been that into trendy. I’d rather have had punctual.”

Bellamy grins. “Believe me, if I knew you were waiting on us–”

“You would’ve annoyed the hell out of everyone else,” Clarke finishes, shifting her weight without letting him go. They’re swaying, just a little, almost to the beat but not exactly. It could passably be considered dancing, but Bellamy won’t mind if anyone calls it for what it is. He has Clarke in his arms again; he doesn’t care who makes fun of him for it.

“Mostly Raven,” he agrees.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Did all of you make it back?”

“We’re all here. I’m sure they’re around, but they’re probably glad to be rid of me.”

“I’m impressed. I was half betting that Echo had murdered everyone. Or Raven, but for more justifiable reasons.”

“Yeah, it’s a shock to all of us. Is O–”

“Around here somewhere.” She starts to step back, guilty. “I can help you find her, or–”

“No,” he blurts, pure instinct, as he reaches for her hand and tugs her back in. “Can we just– “ His hand spasms around hers, panicking at the thought of letting her go. “Stay like this? For a second?”

Clarke ducks her head, hiding a smile. Stepping back into him, she rests her forehead in the crook of his neck, just beneath his jaw. If anyone asks, he might not admit that it’s a kiss he gives her, burying his face in her hair.

“As long as you want,” she says, soft.

Bellamy feels his breathing even out, his heart rate begin to slow. It’s still Earth, and it’s still terrifying, but this moment– dancing with Clarke, breathing her in, a content feeling settling deep in his bones– this moment is everything.

This moment is perfect.


End file.
